Idiots ME: The Long Road to- How Do You Pronounce That?
by Riley Killer
Summary: A game changer at the most and a cynic at the least, a modern day assassin is betrayed and finds herself covered in blood in Elrond's Court as the debate for the Fellowship's ring bearer is taking place. An odd path is thus laid out before her as a result... after all, whoever thought she'd have to deal with elves, rangers, orcs, and what by the way, are Hobbits?
1. 000

**A/N**: So I've ran a similar story like this in the Assassin's Creed archives, however I found myself thinking more and more about this after seeing the Hobbit. After running it by my ex and bouncing it a few times, I decided I'd whip it out and give it a go. I put up these stories to tell them after all.

So needless to say, here we are. Because that's how I roll. Now I'm not a Lord of the Rings fanatic (getting there though), but I am gonna give this my all with a bit of work and research in the process… so. Also forgive my narrating method for the moment. It will change, but for now I needed this as is for exposition.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Any of the creations of J.R.R Tolkien, I'm instead using the world he created for a story in my head that I've decided to tell. I am making no money out of this, and am here for only entertainment value. My ownership lies on the main protagonists.

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**Don Giovanni**

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The moon lay high above the sky, as its light shined down upon the sleeping inhabits of Edinburgh, Scotland. The shops were shut down and dark, the people were tucked safe inside their beds, and the tourists and visitors were enjoying a night's walk, or finding themselves comfortable in their hotel rooms.

"Ew. _That's_ What He Wears To Bed?! Ah've met bigger blokes that tried to show less with more clothes!"

"That doesn't even make sense Des."

Well…. Most of the tourists and visitors were tucked in their hotel rooms.

"Who cares if it doesn't make sense? The sheila's right! That bloke barely covers himself and my god, is he hidin' a squirrel in that thing? It's like a hammock fer a snake, not a proper pair of underwear. My god!"

"Oh, because the Australian playboy would know about hammocks for snakes."

"Nah Miles, I've bedded Jackson, an' he's got nothin' te be ashamed of. Nae te mention he looks good with his trousers off.."

"I didn't need to hear that…"

"Ah c'mon an' be a good sport Miles, the sheila likes me in the sack, maybe with a try you could too!"

"You're gonna make me throw up you bisexual bastard."

"C'mon Miles, a wee bit of homophobia, even if et's just a wee bit, will nae be tolerated on this mission."

"Shut up Des."

Now this rowdy bunch despite their playful banter and obvious vulgar conversation, were of course not part of the usual visitors of Edinburgh. They were of a peculiar sort, whose business was pleasure and whose pleasure was very much none of anyone's concern. Or at least, should they be asked such that would be their reply. One of them is a woman, who lay across the roof that lay parallel to an apartment complex, her fingerless gloved hand holding a pair of binoculars that she pressed to her eyes. Emerald green eyes shining behind the lenses as she watched a man that laid below them on a further floor on the aforementioned neighboring building. Her pink lips pulled into a frown while her fair skin was dotted with freckles along her cheekbones and shoulders. Curly copper colored hair fell in a waterfall down her back, and distractedly she shoved a few curls behind her ear, revealing a piercing of a small green stud in her left lobe, but lacking in her right. A low growl flowed from her as she continued to spy at the man. Using her free hand to adjust the black jacket that laid over her shoulders, leather, she then grunted out, "Clearly it's just for the money… Ugliest second target ah've ever see though lads, ah'm tellin' ya."

"Well then stop lookin' at him!" A man that stood back snapped, his arms crossed with a scowl on his face that tilted his pouted lips down towards his blonde stubble covered strong jaw that was wrapped in sun kissed golden skin, glared at the pair. He donned a trench coat that waved gently in the wind, "You too Jackson, or are you admiring him from afar like Des is?" His bright blue eyes narrowed on the third of their compatriots who was staring through the sight of a long barreled sniper rifle.

Miles Derbin's hair was covered from its military issued buzz cut by a black skullcap. The bits of sunshine that were his bangs peaking shifted gently in the fall evening breeze as his gloved fingers came to warm his arms while they remained crossed. He stood at a solid 6' 2", the tallest of his compatriots, and was broad with muscle that was toned pleasantly. His legs were covered with tight jeans and his chest held a blue shirt, while military issued steel-toed combat boots were laced tight to his feet. Despite the weight they supplied, moving would be no issue for this man. An obvious American, filled with the wonderful stereotypes to go with it, with the exclusion of the fat part.

Alec Jackson glanced up from the sniper rifle and over his shoulder as he lay on the ground, his torso elevated as her rested on his elbows in order to aim appropriately over the roof's ledge and towards the object of their spectating. The lazy wasn't excluded from Miles because it was the fifth time Alec worked with Miles, and he knew for a fact that Miles never moved his ass until the heat was on high and the burner on the oven was a raging inferno, if you would ever catch his drift, which no one usually ever did. He was bestowed brown hair that was always messily windswept accompanied by soft brown eyes gave him an almost endearing look in comparison to his surfer-esc and leprechaun likeness holding companions. His body donned a grey windbreaker and a white t-shirt; no doubt it would have dirt marks on it later from this venture. He much like the other two wore jeans, yet on his feet, such as his female companion, he donned sneakers. He stood at 5' 11", and his form was lithe, perfect for running or scouting ahead.

The fact he had 20/20 vision and the speed to retreat quickly on foot gave him the position of sniper. The fact he had an Australian accent that made the ladies toes curl and a bed side manner that could even seduce someone's grandmother, mother, and daughter at the same time, and perhaps the brother as well if he was lucky, got him the title of 'everyone's man.' Alec himself was never picky, but as he would also say, he _always_ used protection.

Desiree Jessie Kane was the only one who truly felt all right in the weather however, though in Scotland her accent alone had to undergo subtle shifts to blend with the Scots, rather than her native Irish ways. An eye for detail and a knowhow of body language gave her the position of caller. She would name the conditions, call for adjustment in sight for Jackson, and give the when to 'fire!' At 5' 7" she stood the shortest out of the lot, but possibly the fiercest of tempers, as it was Alec's fourth time working with her, and Miles's eighth. Miles own experience landed him the most boring job in the world, that of making sure everyone else did his or her own jobs. Filled with long hours and frantic dependence on other agents as Des enjoyed calling them, he though it was clearly over hyped. Perhaps he would be set with a job on the next go about that was more to his preference however. He had a fancy for piano wire and black gloves, as opposed to the long distance kills as they were doing now.

Desiree's own speculations on Miles's enticements and methods in their profession made her rather sure that Miles's personality was far too sadistic for anyone's personal preference in searching for a partner, particularly that of which concerned bedroom manners, and was perhaps a reason amongst many why she had not been with him yet. But that is neither important, nor relevant at this current time, so let us move on to the important matter at hand.

Three bored assassins that were waiting for the correct moment in time, to kill a single target.

Now why three? You may find yourself asking. Why three indeed, the number three assists with a simple method of saving each other's ass. Should two people be put down, one may still fight, and if one is injured, there are two people to stand in the way. A methodical thought process of their betters called them together for a single hit.

"I still don't see why the hell they thought it'd be good for us all to be here…" Miles growled out, shifting from foot to foot, he was cold, and being higher up off the ground didn't assist with his attempts at warming up, "One of us could have done the job just fine."

While the other two silently acknowledged this thought, all three already knew the prices of questioning their betters. In the chain of command, they were just three pieces to a very large puzzle.

"Because they're pompous twats tha' want us te wipe each other's asses, tha's why lad."

None of which they gave much of a damn about, much less the only female of the group. None of them could say that they generally appreciated their accomplices at this time. Though through a path forged together of blood, trust building exercises, and a few pints of good beer, they had found at least a likeness for the company each of them provided. In the future though, this likeness would grow to appreciation.

For now though, they just had to deal with the fact that while they hated having to work together for a single menial task, they at _least_ liked each other.

"…Ah feel like we're in a movie." Des finally stated after a long pause of silence from her former reply to Miles's question. "Ya know, some idiot narrator introduces us, an' we speak o' somethin' stupid like that. Ye think maybe the agency set up cameras? Maybe they're filimin' us right now…"

"We're about to kill some bloke an' yer wondering if we're bein' filled by some bloomin' camera? What idiot would wanna film somethin' like this Jess?" Desiree looked down towards Alec as he looked at her from the corner of his eye, he then looked up towards the black sky giving a nod of his own in agreement, "…Well, it's not a bad thought. I wonder who they would get to play me."

"Chris Hemsworth or Hugh Jackman." Miles entertained from behind them, sitting on the cold ground and letting his knees come to his chest as he rested his elbows on him, "Or better yet, they'd get an American actor for you Jackson." A scoff came from the Australian.

"Jackman's too short, and I'm not blonde mate." Alec retorted wagging a finger beside the trigger of the rifle, "They'd have to slap a wig on ol' Chris."

"Maybe his brother, Liam. He's got brown hair." Des murmured looking back down through the binoculars. "And he's an aussie too."

"Alright, then who would get you then Jess?" Alec questioned now looking back from Miles towards his female partner, "What 'wee lass,'" He mocked with a minor Irish tilt, "Would get the mighty Jessie Kane?"

"Desiree Jessie Kane to you." She corrected with a glower before then looking out, "…Who knows. None of ye American or Australian kids could pull me off. Ye'd need an Irish woman or dare I say a Scott… an' one that's-"

"Well, then I guess we can't have a movie." Miles joked cutting her off, "Des's only able to be played by herself, and I bet she can't run lines to save her life. So who would get me then?"

The two looked up quietly, before then at each. Des and Alec gave each other twin grins. "Ryan Reynolds." Miles jaw dropped.

"That guy doesn't look a _thing_ like me! Or act like me! Not to mention he's type casted like it's no one's business and let's face it, someone like Chris Evans would be a much better ch-" At this point the other two had stopped listening, laughing overtaking them and drowning out Miles's protests, before a look out of the corner of her eye immediately had Des's attention.

"Look sharp lads, target's on sight." The cheerful laughter and happiness disappeared quickly under the tones of business that flooded into the air as she finished. Miles rose to his feet in a single movement, moving forward and standing just in the shadow on the ledge that the building provided them. His eyes turning forward as he gained a small scowl before he crouched next to them, soon moving to a laying position. This made him less likely to get shot if spotted.

"Wind is perhaps two kilometers an hour…" Muttered Des, she stuck a finger up feeling after shoving it in her mouth and coating it with saliva, "Moving North East, adjust by 15 degrees." Quietly Alec did just that, eyes lidded as he stared down the sight, the scope of the sniper rifle painted with a black matt to avoid the moonlight that would make it shine. "Target is moving at six o'clock."

"I got the sheila…" Alec's eyes narrowed, the moon hitting them causing the brown to just highlight the golden flecks in the irises. He grinned lightly, "How 'bouts a pint at my place after this mates? I say I got just the thing to warm us all up."

"Sounds good, now _focus_ Jackson." Ordered Miles with a glower to the side, "We get one shot at this bitch."

"Now now…no need for name calling…" Des surmised as silence finally began to settle between the tree of them, "…Target is shifting for the next room…"

"Fire."

The gun went off with a bang, something they hadn't expected. While a woman in the building across went down, Miles and Des both looked at Alec who was staring at the gun stunned. Snapping up, he immediately cursed, "I put a silencer on this thing! I know I did!" Searching he yanked the aforementioned object off the front, "See! I know did!"

"Did or not, that'll have been heard, move it!" Snapped Miles, "Pack it in Aussie, we gotta move." There were simultaneous gunshots from a building over, and dust rose as bullets peppered the edge of the building making them flinch back, running for the door access to the roof they had used.

With a growl and curse, Miles yanked Alec up to his feet and shoved the rifle into his hand. It's containing briefcase he held under his arm after grasping up Des by the back of the neck and giving a shove. They bolted, but another set of gunfire sounded off.

Alec made it just inside before the bullets peppered, he yanked in Des in the process and Miles dove. The Australian let out a thankful gasp of air as he shut the door with a bang and then looked down. Miles clutched at his shoulder, before yanking his hand away. It was only a skimming by the looks of it. Wasting no time, the Australian began to dismantle his gun, Des opening the briefcase having relinquished it from the blonde.

"How much time do we have?" Des grunted, her Irish tilt thickening with worry.

"Four minutes at the most. One at the least." Miles replied getting to his feet. Alec didn't' respond to either of them as he packed the rest of the sniper rifle away, "Shit the group is too big."

"We need to blend and split, meeting up at a common place." Finally Alec supplied to the two, his eyes turned up as he yanked to his feet, briefcase shoved to Miles who took it. It would be his job to dispose of it. "Pub?" He finished.

"They're closed to tourists, curfew and all." Des muttered while they began to move immediately down the stairs towards the next flight, "Courtyard, 20 minutes." She concluded, they gave a nod before she nodded in return and then gave a short curt one to Miles, "Get that wrapped _leader_, 'r the coppers will be askin' why ye have a wound." Miles let out a curse of his own before she turned and bolted out of a door escaping from the stair landing. They needed to exit at different times or this might not work. They also needed to be quick about it.

"Do you think they got our faces mate?" Alec hissed he looked up towards Miles who glowered lightly.

"You better pray not." He concluded as they reached another landing, feet never stopping and he split off from the Australian, "Or we may not make it through the night."

"Christ!"

…Desiree Jessie Kane's feet pounded against the ground as she darted down shadow-covered alleys like death was on her heels. For all she knew however, he was right upon her breathing down her neck. The Irish assassin let out a low groan under her breath, cursing faulty weaponry. For her luck, it was probably American. Looking at her watch as she stilled at the closest courtyard that had been near underneath a shadow. Her green eyes turning out and her sweaty palm coming down to a stiletto knife that was sheathed next to five other sisters of it and a butterfly companion that was belted with a double at her lower back. All tucked safely underneath a jacket and shirt, hiding just like her tramp stamp tattoo of a rose with black vines, briars, and black to green radiant leaves was.

Her other fingers that were loose dipped towards the inside of her thighs, cuts that had been made along the seams of her pants, held by Velcro gently plucked away so she could pull one out. The matte finish of the gun prevented a gleam as she leaned quietly in the darkest part of the shadows. Yanking her hood up of her jacket, she quietly contemplated as she awaited the others.

Desiree before she was, what she was now, was an honest girl Ireland. She had little to no problems, many friends, and was rather well known as such. She had done fantastic in school, and even graduated from a university. She had a seemingly normal life, and a rather good upbringing.

So what exactly brought her here, to this profession? To such dangerous situations?

Desiree's life had been considered perfect by most accounts, nothing went wrong, and nothing went astray from plan… she had a cool head on her shoulders and was set to even marry the day before everything changed, her family had liked her to be husband, she had enjoyed him and his company, marriage had been the only logical explanation after they had been dating for four years, since she had come to college and then after, as the woman had graduated in three years as opposed to the normal four with a Bachelors of Science in Psychology, with a specialization in human thought processes, and a minor in Human Sexuality. Bright, to be married, everything had been fine and at ease…

And _so_ boring.

It had been her mother that had taken her to the shooting range, and after her marriage at 23, an obsession that had set in. Self defense classes, shooting coaches, the occasional fence master, and a blade crafter in the family made everything easier, the Irish woman had become consumed in the teachings of combat and left everything precious in the wake of that obsession.

So consumed by it she was, that certain higher, darker societies became interested in her. At 27, when her marriage was almost in ruins, and her husband on the verge of asking for divorce, she was approached. Attending Graduate school at the time, she had shot her grades into the ground, almost on the urge of failing. Her husband's money wasted, her own buying the next course she would be taught to master, she had ran all around her into the ground to burn, destruction emotional, financially, and physically had left her disowned. A few months after the proposition had been given to her in the form of a man in a black trench coat, one she would later come to know as M. K., an Irish bloke that at day was a lawyer, and on his off days, her handler, she left.

No letters, no sign or warning, no packed bags, she left it all behind, and took nothing. She changed her name, and now picks up a new cellphone every three weeks after ditching the old one. She never stays in the same place more than three weeks; and she never meets the same people twice except within maybe a span of four years.

At 35, though she did miss her family occasionally, Desiree Jessie Kane, Kane being the only remnants of her Irish heritage other than her looks and tilt, found to this day she regretted nothing.

The workings of the human mind are usually profound and despite the logical appearance one could appeal to be, completely illogical at times. If one were to ask Des why she ever gave it all up, or why for the matter she found a life of moving constantly, and never planting roots down. A life of killing for money, and the occasional near death experience for free, so fulfilling, she would merely smile at the person, pat them on the shoulder, and if they were in a pub order another pint with a twinkle in her eye.

This is also why; she is the centerpiece for this tale. The events that followed this day in Edinburgh would change Des in many ways, perhaps never in ones that she would imagine, but they would change her in ways none-the-less. Magic existed in Des's blood, old Celtic magic from the very people that settled on the shores of Ireland centuries ago. It rested in Miles blood as well, as he descended from the witches who burned in Salem, and Alec who held native lines to the groups in aboriginals of Australia. Magic was the thing that bound them together, and perhaps the reason why three very different people were so easily involved, and so very close, despite the only occasional situations where they found themselves to be holding the fortune that was each other's company.

Desiree liked them, as they were, the products of their pasts. Just like her. The product of whatever sad, or joyous lives they had lived, and in turn the lives they were living completely differently, with smiles, fake or not, on their faces each day and the single notion that they _were_ not the only ones, settled deep in their hearts. Though this single objective fact would change.

In the one event that would start off Desiree's own new adventure in her life, everything she deemed as her currently reality would change. For better or for worse, would have to be determined…

…20 minute passed and Des still had no sign of either Alec or Miles. She felt nervous and her eyes flicked up and about, searching rooftops and attempting to find something, even when the stillness around her told her there was nothing there to begin with. Her heart pounded in her head while there was nothing to see and no one about. Quietly her feet carried her out, eyes turning this way and that as she made her way for the center of the courtyard… this was her first mistake. As she reached the center and saw nothing, she sat on the fountain that laid in the center, pulled her legs up and hid the butt and stock of her pistol in her hand The clips that were settled on the inside of her legs cold from the brisk Scotland air.

She heard footsteps, and looked up searching to see no one coming from the alleys. They continued though before she watched as Miles finally showed. Desiree spotted his own gun in his hand, a silencer on it placing her immediately on guard as she rose to her feet. She heard groaning and hissing in the background towards the alley he emerged from, the heat of fear springing from her as her heart began to pound. Nothing occurred for a few moments before Alec's familiar Australian voice broke from the background.

"Sheila! Run for it!" She moved to bolt before Miles's barrel pressed to her head. She stilled as it held at her temple, the quiet deafening before she looked to the side at him.

"…Why?" In which the American assassin she had come to call friend raised a brow.

"Ah Des… it's nothin' personal." He frowned lightly, "You know how it is, just business. The personal part is you getting to see it's me… I mean, wouldn't you rather a friend kill you? I'll have to go back though for Alec… bastard dodged at the last second."

This time, the silencer worked.

A bullet passing through ones' brain is a very anticlimactic event. On one side, the one that Miles viewed, the hollow point that rushed through Desiree's temple and directly into her brain, successfully blasted away the other part of her skull and delivered a very quick and painless death.

Mentally on the other side however, Desiree went back to a moment in her past, when she signed the papers to certify the divorce, and a car waited outside, engine running.

She remembered the minutest details. The way the room smelled, musty and filled with dust, the red curtains shut and the mahogany desk she had bought after graduating college chipped and worn at corners and edges. The pen in her hand warm around the tips and where it rested on the webbing between her thumb and index finger.

The eyes of her husband as he watched over her shoulder, filled with longing and pain that she ignored mercilessly, the way his cologne smelled, a bitter fragrance that was sharp and clean. His clothing tight as he was puffed in the chest to beg her once again not to leave, and his eyes were puffy from crying for hours. The sound of her mother on the phone as she spoke to her, attempting to talk her out of it while her husband, soon to be ex held the cellphone in his hand. Her mother's shrill voice raking against her senses and pulling at her, attempting to convince her just one last time, not to go.

Her fingers tensing and the pressure placed on the pen as she couldn't press hard enough and she signed her name, hours before she would change it and forever stop being this existence that she was assuming.

The way she dotted her 'I's with hearts as and then slashed with the crosses that marked 't's' in other areas that required responses. The coolness that then came to her hand as she began to set the pen down, the air still and her world quiet, though her husband crying out to her. She simply blocked him out, and her mother's voice was cut off with a slow snap of the cell phone shutting, and staring pitilessly at the look of defeat that crossed the man she had marrieds' face as she walked past him, not bothering with a second glance. Telling him with a very empty voice, that he had been a good husband, but she was done with the marriage. And it was true, he had never strayed, and he had never fallen.

Some people were just born odd, and grew to be odd. Desiree in the end of her life, had turned out to be just one of these kinds of people. Though as the last bits of the memory faded away, and darkness began to sneak it, her last thought was, _It was because Alec told ye te be bi with 'im... wassinit?_

Reality shot through her senses as she found noise erupting into her quiet serenity, the sound of people yelling and arguing. The darkness that had occurred was pierced with light, causing her eyes to water and a visible flinch to come to her. She recalled the swift sound of the gunfire from the silencer, but as her vision returned she stood not in just a courtyard, but surrounded by men. They quieted immediately though upon her appearance, though to her she would not know just how she seemed to 'appear.'

They would say it was out of thin air, which later would confuse the Irish assassin. For the moment though in the still quiet that pressed down upon her, she stared about, seeing an old man donning a grey crooked hat with a brim, a staff, and a large grey cloak standing next to a boy with large feet and hair amongst them all. She saw men of various sizes and widths, and a few that looked normal, though the clothes they donned were strange, and some with pointed ears. She noted the white stone that spread out and created patterns as she stood on them, and she noted blood dripping down from her hand onto the ground. Following it with an unsure hand, her own gun clattering to the ground as she didn't even notice her dropping it, she followed it by patting it upward to the left side of her head and then looked down as her fingers rested where she was sure the bullet had come out of.

No pain ushered from her, and no wound could be found, but the blood still remained. For a few moments, Desiree Jessie Kane stood in the stunned silence that was weighing heavily down on her, stumped stupid, and neglectful of a mind she was surrounded by people who had swords, axes, a staff, and in a few cases, bows.

In fact, Desiree Jessie Kane didn't respond to just about anything as they stared at her in amazed and aghast quietness, and she looked back in confusion and puzzlement, as though instead of being killed, she was placed with the most interesting quandary she had ever been given.

When one man approached her, the old one with the staff, which by the way she noted, tapped as he moved. She looked up and gave a wince at the light that bore down from the sky behind him, not moving or attempting to grasp her second gun, as would be a usual instinct in a situation where she was surrounded by the armed. In fact, in quite the reverse, she just looked up, stared for a few moments, before he finally opened his mouth and inhaling to speak.

Des never got a chance to hear what he was about to ask her, in which having heard it, she may have very well just responded the same way as she was about to. Unfortunately for her spectators though, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and unconsciousness grasped her up once again into its' clutches, the older man not able to ask her anything, and having to catch her unconscious bloody form before she ever hit the ground.


	2. 001

**A/N: **And here we are for chapter 1. Now I know alotta people like to make their elves in their stories have the natural dialogue, and by this I mean they take the time to write it out in elfish… I am not that knowledgeable, and to prevent tomfoolery, I'm gonna make it for everyone, simple. Because you can either be really good at it and get it spot on right then or there, or you can be bad and have people wonderin' what the hell they were saying throughout the chapter.

"_Talk" _This signifies a different language. If the character is an elf, you'll know what they're speaking.

_'Talk' _This signifies nonverbal speech.

_Talk._ This is thoughts. Or me emphasizing words. You can usually tell the difference.

Also, I change up some things. I wanted to try something a bit different. So… the line for this chapter is, _"Good timing is EVERYTHING."_

Now onto those who reviewed! And thank you to those that also favorite and are now following! You all make my day! Also, to MERRY CHRISTMAS (though I'm a few hours late, sorry)!

**SerbiaTakesCntrl:** The fact you reviewed not once but twice in excitement for this story, makes' my day. I hope you enjoy this chapter. As to your questions about Miles and Alec, wait and see! ;) I was honest in the summary on the most that Des can be.

**Herio9071: **I personally didn't see it too much as sad, but when I look back on it, well, I can kinda see it now. Oooh Des, shame on ye for pissin' yer life way like that! Time for some relearning family values!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the creations of J.R.R Tolkien; I'm instead using the world he created for a story in my head that I've decided to tell. I am making no money out of this, and am here for only entertainment value. My ownership lies on the main protagonists.

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_**Aurum Nostrum Non Est Aurum Vulgi**_*****

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Desiree Jessie Kane came to. Her eyes opened, heavy with sleep as she stared up at a pristine white ceiling. Quiet was held in the room, though she could hear someone breathing. Her eyes moved to the side, blurry and not yet focused. A chair sat beside the bed she had been placed in, the old man from before lay against it. He watched her pensively and seeing as her eyes opened, sat a little straighter, his teeth biting gently down on the end of his pipe as it sat in his mouth. Inhaling the smoke, he leaned back and watched as her eyes followed the stream of smoke that ushered out.

"You have been asleep for three days my young friend." He began quietly, "We questioned if you would awaken at all… given the state you were in upon your arrival."

Des's eyes turned away from him, staring back up at the ceiling. She thought about opening her mouth, responding to him, but oddly enough she didn't find it in her to do so. Des's response thus was a quirked brow, pondering his words. _Her_ arrival?

"You carry such strange items as well." Her vision focused a little more, and with a grunt of air coming from her, her hands pressed down to the bed and she pushed herself up. Nothing hurt, her body just felt heavy. Similar to a state she had been in once when she was drugged as a matter of fact. She looked up, attempting to recall what had happened before waking up. Her eyes shut as she vaguely recalled it all, Miles and the gun, being screamed at by Alec to run… she jolted as the memory's intensity followed it's remembrance and opened her eyes wide, staring frantically back around the room before they landed on the old man watching her.

"Perhaps we shall retrieve them now, given you have awakened…" This was by far the oddest perhaps wake up greeting she had received. The last time she had fallen unconscious in unknown territory, she had been in the confines of Iraq, given the orders to dispatch a Taliban higher up. She had woken up to find herself tied to a chair, and snarls of interrogation at her… that hadn't ended up prettily for either party. Now she had awoken to an old man in a chair who was smoking a pipe, and not only calling her 'friend,' but offering to take her to her weaponry and also given them back?

Caution laced through Des as she watched him warily. Something for sure was wrong. She could feel it in the back of her mind, lingering like a beast waiting to pounce on the opportunity. How was she even _here_ to begin with? This defied physics, and mortality all in one. Slowly she pulled back the covers that were on her, finding she had been changed as well. Given this, her belts that lined her hips, her thighs, and shins were gone. The blade and pistol holsters, and their clip latches removed…

As her feet touched the ground, she honestly felt about ten pounds lighter than what she was ever used to since she started working. She felt if given enough time, she could come to get used to the feeling of not being bound to the weaponry.

_Now isn't tha' an excitin' prospect?_ Des lifted to her feet and she stretched, raising her arms high above her head as she clamped thme together in front of the old man, watching him now curiously and her lips pulled down into a frown. Her eyes then turned to the clothes she wore, a soft cream tunic covered her chest, brown trousers hung off her hips, her bra and underwear hadn't been removed. That was a blessing in disguise.

With a soft grunt the old man lifted, "…I am Gandalf, Gandalf the Grey… you seem not to be one for words… something is wrong?" Before she could even think to answer, he looked away, "Yes… something is definitely wrong… I suspect you would not be here otherwise…"

_Why bother askin' me if ye were gonna jus' answer it yerself? _She tilted her head as a copper colored eyebrow quirked towards him before he looked back, a hand slowly coming out towards her. Des flinched as it landed on her shoulder and his face turned to sorrow, her noted his posture, the way his head bowed forward and the slight toward tilt of his lips as he seemed to smile lightly anyways. It was a gentle smile filled with pity, something Des had only seen a few times in fact.

It caused a ripple through the bottom of her stomach that told her to be wary all the more. There was something she was not getting, something information wise that was lingering in his motions that apparently she was supposed to know, but was completely blank on. This _Gandalf_ was also not as he seemed either… the wrinkling around the eyes, the light twinkle in the very corner…

The way his hands were steady, but strong. Her eyes turned towards the old hand that rested and she then looked back towards him. The man was old, but strong… he wasn't quite right. Gripping her shoulder she felt him turn her and allowed her body to comply, turning with the pressure.

"Let us go gather your things… I look forward to seeing just what they are." He didn't know what a gun was? Perhaps the throwing knives he did know… but the guns he didn't? The man didn't know the human race's finest killing weapon created through their technology?

Des glanced at the ground as he moved in front of her, following his direction as she searched the floor for answers. _Curious indeed…_ He didn't know about guns… he called her items strange, and while some things were odder than others when it came to the art of killing, Des was sure much of it outside of chemical killing, such as poisoning and the bodily responses they caused, was quite common.

She schooled her features and inhaled deeply but as quietly as she could. She found it out of habit to become as unnoticeable as possible. Her footsteps were quiet; her eyes stared ahead but remained focused about. The hand on her shoulder remained despite this though, for a few moments she felt that inkling in the back of her head though that said she was grounded. Not floating, not drifting… solidly grounded.

It was a reassuring thing, given the circumstances to which she was here. Her mind drifted to the matter at hand though. Where was _here?_ Was she living again? Or was she dead? Her eyes turned down and her head bowed as she grabbed her chin while this Gandalf character watched her in his speculations and observations. Neither said anything while both remained deep in thought.

Her eyes turned up and about, could this be time passing while the bullet went through her head? Seconds by seconds turned to days, hours, a final fantasy to escape the horror and truth that she was enduring…

Was this the final moment of existence of her humanity?

As her heart didn't pound in her chest, though fear ran through her and she felt her breathing speed up, she stopped in her tracks. There was no pounding like drums in her mind… no ringing of fear in her ears, no white noise silence… She heard people about, she could smell different scents, see people milling, hear their steps. Her head turned left, and then right, feet still planted firmly. Gandalf watched as two fingers came up and planted on her own the spot underneath her jaw, searching.

"You are a strange one… my quiet friend." He noted. Her eyes turned towards him in the process though they were wide. "You've noticed then…" A slow nervous nod followed however from his statement.

She didn't have a pulse.

Des then looked down as her fingers drifted back to her side. She could hear, she could smell, and she could see… she licked the tip of her fingers, she could taste. Everything was functioning, nothing was incorrect… and yet…

She recalled the sound of the trigger clicking, the hammer letting go, and then the 'shwoo' of the bullet shooting into the air. A heat that blazed through her so fiercely that it clouded her mind. She knew it already; it was the heat that accompanied fear, adrenaline, and hysteria. The heat that accompanied death, had she not had so many close calls… she would not know it. It was the body signifying the end… and she had met it.

She _knew_ she did.

_And yet…_ She twisted, turning and staring at the old man named Gandalf whose eyes widened and he took a step back. There was no response though from the Irish woman as she eyed him critically. _Here I am… _Alive, or at least some semblance of it, her brain still registering, her mind still keeping pace, racing even. Sensory still exhibiting its usual functions… how was her pulse lacking though above all possible? Was it, as she feared? Was this merely the bullet going through her brain and the end to eventually come was inescapable? Was this just a cruel version of _"An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge?"_

What was this?

Gandalf's feet paced him a few steps back from the woman as she glared him down. Her face filled with confused displeasure. He watched a fire burn in the emerald green of those eyes and felt a little bit of wariness fall into his mind, taking place next to the caution he felt. This was the world's solution, this woman. He could feel it, yet the items she carried and her silence caused a label of strange that brought an unnerved feeling in him.

This creature before him was of human remarkability, from the way her hair felt to the very body she inhabited. It looked alive, and held warmth, yet even he couldn't neglect or ignore the absence of the pulse. Something about this female unsettled him and not in the same nature that a woman would a man. There was a danger… and he felt uneasy and less than keen to allow the world to have its way on the question at hand…

But he could not question the obvious time of her arrival, the perfect area she appeared in, during the absolute crucial time of question. The world had sent the Elrond's Council a solution.

Silently as she looked at him with that critical gaze though… he questioned if it was the correct one to take? Danger though it hovered above this woman creature, he could not tell if it was of her, from her, or to become of her… he shook his head slowly and rubbed his eyes, taking another inhale from his pipe, "Is something the matter…?" He kept his voice low, gentle, as though a light coaxing. Whatever this creature was, it was young. Possibly the youngest in the entirety of Rivendell…

…Des was unsure if she wished to talk to this man honestly yet. It wasn't customary for her to upon meeting someone new. One would think that such common courtesy was indeed common, but let us not forget that Des was born odd, and grew to be odd. Her profession as an assassin called for such social constructions such as ignoring others and choosing to not speak at all, or in these cases, social destructions. A woman that would not talk was never a very good conversationalist. Desiree herself knew at least eight different languages, each practiced to be fluent in. She could blend with in with just about all and any, however upon many places, speaking until spoken too was necessary. Sometimes she would have a mediator, someone to introduce her, somewhat like a cover. Actually, _exactly_ like a cover.

However sometimes, saying nothing said everything in itself… in this case, it was not so. Desiree found though she had no other way to react for the time being… and assuming she was mute could very well be for the best, if though, albeit boring. Often the Irish woman found fantastic conversation to be the highlight of her day, and rather mentally stimulating. With this man's own accent though, old or not, unnatural or not… she wondered if he would have a hard time understanding her. Perhaps though he, like her was experienced in the way of carrying many accents and languages. One could very well not tell without conversation or witnessing such actions though.

Conceding to being mute for the moment, she slowly gave a nod. Perhaps she could attempt to heighten her skills at pantomime… though she did know a bit of sign language to get by, she doubted the old codger would be able to assist or understand. So as he leaned forward on his staff, she let out a breath gesturing around her, turning this way and that with her arms wide, hands up, and then looking at him with a quirked brow and confusion.

_"Where am I?"_ Was essentially what she meant to say, and as she watched his eyes spark with intelligence, a glimmer of hope blossomed from her in him.

"Why, you're in Rivendell madam." He smiled lightly, "Home of the elves, including the great Lord of Rivendell, Elrond." Having to begin to nod while he was speaking, Des then found herself stilling and staring at him, as though she didn't hear him right. She schooled herself to immediately cover it up as he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned forward, moving to her height as he bent over. "Now, what say we continue our venture to gather your things?" It was not lost on him her confusion, and wondered if the world's power failed to inform her of the beings she was to come in contact with. Could he be wrong in thinking that she was not a worldly solution to the current issue hand? Perhaps an elder being that he did not know of was involved… he would doubt it though.

For the moment he watched as she nodded and turned, allowing him to lead her quietly and humming slightly to himself.

…Where the fuck was Rivendell and _who_ the fuck was Elrond? Des had found herself lost in her thoughts as Gandalf the Grey- and why Grey for that matter, led her through out corridors, room after room, before finally coming to a halt in front of a pair of also pristine wooden doors. She looked at the designs that were carved into them before Gandalf opened then and grabbed her wrist lightly.

Maybe him being and seeming as old as her grandfather made it a little easier for her to be led in such a manner. As they moved into this new room, she found there were no exists. There were only chairs and a long table… at one end a group of men sat of various shapes and sizes… on the other side though-

The light that was from outside she noted did well to illuminate the matte finish on her S & W 9 mill. Cal. The belts sat with it, and the knives glinted quietly with the soft sunshine, like a whisper beckoning and calling her. She broke away from Gandalf and made no move to go towards the side with men, heading for the other end of the long table where she spotted a single chair pulled away from the spot. In this situation honestly she would rather be armed, whether she would need it or not would have to remain to be seen.

"It seems our new friend is a bit of a mute." Gandalf announced as his lips pulled into a light frown. "So I'm afraid this will make our task a little more difficult than already expected."

Lending her ears but not her attention, Desiree kept her sights on her weaponry before she reached it, fingers sliding gently over the small head of the gun all the way down to the butt, before lifting it up and beginning to check it over. Paranoia raced in her mind though she did well to prevent it from over ruling, thus she was able to slide the clip out and begin to examine it quietly. The 9 millimeter caliber Smith and Wesson felt good in her hands, her eyes turned towards its twin as she didn't hesitate to set one down before giving the other a once over.

Both seemed to be in good order, but due to sweat, grime, and things of the like she imagined they would need a cleaning. Not all American guns gave her a headache as it was, and these were a gift. She almost bit back the urge to spit at them, refraining from allowing her lips to twist with disgust. They were from _Miles_, but they had still served her well. Setting them back onto the table she drew her gaze back to her knives.

"Perhaps if the lass would lend us with her attention first, then we may begin on matters at hand." Des's eyes shot up with a stern stare for that voice. She heard almost Scottish, and while she didn't mind Scots one bit, if she was gonna be told off by any _man_ there would be another thing coming. She landed on a man that was short and stout, he had red hair and a beard. Her head slowly tilted towards him in a simple subtle movement. Her wrist out of habit flicked open the butterfly blade, catching its other handle in hand and then looking down. She checked it with the back of her fingernail, finding it still left a decent indent in her nail, and then shut it.

To satisfy him though, she reached behind her with her foot her to the chair she had noted been pulled back away from her weaponry, no doubt to give access. Pulling it forward, she sat down in it and let her legs cross, set her elbows on the table, intertwined her fingers together and then looked over them down at the men who watched her with varying expressions. Her lips pressed to her two index fingers as her left laid behind and over her right, and she exhaled loudly, before then blinking.

They had her attention. This caused a snort from the Scot, or at least whom she thought was a Scot, before he slowly nodded, "Right then-"

"We may begin." The voice that spoke now was at ease, and stern. She almost felt the hair on the back of her neck raise up. It reminded her of her father. The tone wasn't business like, it was too serious.

_Da' always took things a wee bit too serious…_ She almost winced and fought back the urge but it slipped anyways. She didn't need to think about family now. She had managed to tame those thoughts for seven years, killed or not, it was not the time to allow them reoccurrence. She tried to focus on the speaker instead.

The speaker was none other than Elrond, Lord of Rivendell. He was taller than her; she noted that first, and immediately found it an appreciative fact. Her mind sharpened as she considered for a few moments the fact his chest, abdomen, thighs, and several other vital areas would be easier to reach. Landing on his face after, she did give a wince as he stared down the table at her from the head of it. Attacking him, or attempting to would not be the best idea.

_Le's get in trouble first Desie, before we actually decide people be worth' killin'._ She didn't honestly want to kill anyone here, but she couldn't be sure that she wasn't going to be killed here either. _Fer all ah know, this is hell. Absolute hell… le's nae give e'm an advantage we cannae afford to give._

"As you know, three days ago we convened as Council to discuss the matter of The One Ring." His head bowed forward, towards a boy. Desiree recognized him as the boy that had been standing next to Gandalf when she had arrived, "Frodo." His tone as he leaned forward on the table signified an order. His hands moved down holding himself upright and his shoulders squared made Des's head perk up a little more.

Something important was going to happen, it had been worrying on him- were those ears pointed?!

Much like a cat with Attention Deficit Disorder, her eyes flicked to the ears, stared for a few moments, before they then moved forward as the boy set down something on the table. He sat midway towards the center of the table with Gandalf across from him now. As Desiree focused down onto what he was placing, she blinked to find it none other than a ring.

A golden ring. The killer immediately grimaced behind her hands in confusion. What in the hell were they getting all torn up over a single piece of jewelry for? Clearly she was not aware of a situation at hand, as she never thought something like that, a little golden ring, could be so worrisome to someone. Not unless it was a wedding band, or something like that. Leaning back, elbows moving to the armrest and hands falling to her lap, she allowed herself to just stare at it.

_A little gold ring. Really?_ It was then she noted a tensed hush over everyone as they were staring at it… Elrond's voice came back up.

"At that time, we were attempting to choose the ring bearer. Thee person who would cast the ring into the fiery depths of the mountain from which it was forged with the walls of Mordor…" His tongue rolled at the end of the 'dor' making Des almost wince again but for an entirely different reason altogether. He inhaled deeply making her eyes turn from the ring, to his face, and then back to the ring. What was the deal with this One Ring? Honestly, she didn't understand it. "It appears … the world has chosen for us instead. Should our newcomer accept… she _will_ be the ring bearer."

Desiree never thought she could see a rage erupt out of a group so quickly. At first it was a man with blonde hair and stubble that launched up, slamming his hands down on the table, "This is Unacceptable! It should not be some stranger that just appears out of mere here say!"

Then there was another blonde, Des shoved her tongue into the side of her cheek and leaned back into her chair with her arms crossed as she watched. Her legs became uncrossed in the process, she might have to move in a few seconds, as he jumped to he also looked up. He had a troubled face, but a gentle one, and _pointy_ ears too.

_Gandalf did say 'elves' an' so elves we got ah suspect._ She noted to herself before then grunting as he spoke out. When she didn't understand it though, she found herself almost fascinated, _"My Lord Elrond! Please! He's right! A stranger should not be in charge of such an important matter!"_

The fact he pointed at her made Desiree give a slight look of disapproval. _It's nae fair te me if ye speak in a different language and then talk 'bout me… cannae defend myself then can I?_ She noted easily enough by the way he was staring at this Elrond character though who also had a grim look on his face. He was agreeing with the other fellow who spoke. Her eyes then turned to the red head Scot that was snarling one thing or another towards the elf lord about how it'd be worse for her to have it than for an elf.

The only ones, who weren't speaking were oddly enough Gandalf, the kid, and a man with black hair and stubble along his chin. She cast a quiet look towards him as he wasn't looking at the group as they raged about at all… his gaze was casted upon her. _Well ain' tha' jus' a wee bit queer? _She inhaled lightly and then saw the boy who was frantically looking back towards her, then towards the ring.

Voices mingled, arguments became incoherent, and then Gandalf rose and began to join in the fray. Raising a hand up after puffing her cheeks out and letting out a breath, it fell to her side. This was getting out of control. Grasping the S & W she checked it over one last time, looked out the open window… well it was more of an opened balcony, pointed out lazily where she saw open sky, flicked the safety off, pulled the hammer back, and squeezed the trigger.

This one didn't have the silencer.

People jumped as the sound bolted from the weapon, twisting towards her in the process while her gun still smoked and she cast a look quietly over towards them before clicking the safety back on accordingly and gently setting the gun down. She felt her ears ache lightly; a pain that almost made her feel a little relieved at the fact the dead couldn't feel pain. Rubbing her eyes now, she rose to her feet and crossed the length between her and this One Ring. Leaning forward, she moved to pick it up before her hand was grasped up by the kid.

"Please." Her eyes flicked up as dread and fear came to his face, "…Don't put it on." She didn't understand but let out another breath before giving a nod.

Fine, she wouldn't put on the bloody thing. While gold looked fabulous on her professional color palette, she'd refrain. Picking it up between her fingers though, she glowered at it distastefully.

_Male, whoever this thin' belonged too, gigantic thin' he was too..._

"She does not feel the presence of the ring." Noted Gandalf quietly; "It does not hold sway over her."

_Wha'? _She looked up from the ring, then back over towards Gandalf as he stood watching silently, she then looked back with a frown, _This thin' is supposed ta have sway? Ah know a few jewelers it woul' repulse… _She then looked down, seeing the kid watch her. The way he stared at her, and then the ring though… She frowned. His hands were just barely shaking. He wet his lips, staring at it quietly and then down, away as though trying to hide it. She stood up a little straighter.

It was like staring at the beginnings of an addict truthfully, slightly unsettling her before she looked back at the ring with a simple stare.

If this thing was so hot on everyone else's mind… why didn't she feel any different? Why was _she_ different? She paused for a moment looking from once face to another, then reaching up and pressing her knuckles to her neck as though to reassure herself one more time.

She would bet it had something to do with the fact she didn't have a god damn pulse! Her skin was still warm, she had all her senses, but no pulse… she looked down as she let the ring roll on her fingers, flipping end over end to the next before forcing it back in reverse out of habit. A few nights of poker with Alec had taught her that trick, and a nice pensive little trick it was. Looking up, she turned, taking the ring with her and moved it down to the other end of the table.

She set it down by her gun, and then leaned back after sitting down and letting her ankle rest up on her other leg's knee. These people were already at each other's throats on who was going to take the bloody thing, and it being her being so controversial honestly egged her on at this point.

After all, Des didn't know where the hell she was, and she looked about the room silently as they began to murmur amongst each other something or another, returning thankfully to their seats. If this ring also made someone like the kid, what did Elrond call him? Ah yes, Frodo, act like a to be drug addict, she didn't want to dare think of what it would happen in someone else's hands. Frodo seemed good natured, the way his face was said he was young, probably hadn't seen the world much yet, an innocent she would bet…

Des was far past innocent and far into damned at this point. Maybe if this ring was so evil, she was too damned for it? She pondered it all the same before looking back up.

"…I would say…" Gandalf murmured slowly, "That our new accomplice has indeed been sent by the world's higher powers to assist us with this journey… though given her confusion, despite her claimed commitment…" Amusement and a chuckle coated his voice, "I would say she does not, and would not probably know the way." With a small movement, which consumed about three steps, he stood beside her, "I will assist her along the journey."

She almost could smile lightly at Gandalf, and she managed just a small one just for him in the process. She wondered what he was trying to stir up however in the process.

"Sending a stranger… I would not have them unwatched and so carelessly left be!" The first man who spoke out rose to his feet, his hand planting on the table, "I will show her the way to Mordor as well, if not to watch what you cannot, wizard."

_Don' do meh any favors. _Des found herself muttering, she looked back at the ring, and then quietly up. Letting out a sigh with a lidded gaze she watched as they continued.

"I too, would not leave a stranger alone to do the bidding for this world, particularly when they have just appeared in it not but three days ago." The elf, the blonde one began to rise in the process, "I will trust your judgment Lord Elrond…" She watched as he glowered and switched languages, _"Though I do not agree with it."_

_Well ah don' even need to be able to read this guy te know he's disagreein'…_

"If the elf goes so do I!" Ah, the Scot. She would have to find out his name, as she doubted he was a Scot, since elves were in the equation and all in this reality she found herself in. "There'll be not a day where a dwarf will be afraid to venture where an elf will!"

She could possibly find an ally with that one, given he was against the elf, who was apparently against her doing this… she looked at their clothing and concluded, 'quest.' They looked like they were donning mostly tunics, breaches and greaves. Straps here and there… she looked at her own forebodingly and with an unpleasant grimace. She doubted denim and t-shirts would match what they wore, much less blend… looking down at the clothing she had, she then looked up. She would have to modify and make adjustments for the weapons she had. Once the guns were out though completely, clips and all, she'd be relying on the knifes…

For a few moments she was thankful that she was becoming more and more proficient in those just as well. Though she didn't know if she would even need them, apparently this lot though thought she would.

"I will go as well." Now a silence fell, and her eyes turned towards the boy that was staring down, her eyes turned up towards him to see him look up and flinch away. A suspicious look covered Desiree's face in a cross glare and her fingers interlaced back together. "…There may need civil company… and a hobbit can give just that."

What in the hell was a Hobbit? As Frodo rose to his feet and moved forward, she watched him slowly bow his head, "If… if you'll have me."

_Tha's a wee bit risky_. They didn't want her going, and as Gandalf began to open his mouth in protest, she found herself giving a small nod anyways. Why not? They had to travel, might as well be a big rambunctious group. She then looked up at the ceiling and immediately frowned. Groups got one killed in her line of work, however perhaps as this was not assassination… there would be some safety in numbers. She then looked back at him and gave another nod that was a bit more confident this time. The fact he glanced at the ring again though, this One Ring she was supposed to deliver into a volcano by the sounds of it, did not go missing to her though. She did not notice as Gandalf shut his eyes, and slowly winced as though he was struck with grief. A hand came up and rested on her shoulder, and she looked towards the old man as he gave her a look that almost said to refuse it. She paused, trying to read it more thoroughly.

Gandalf silently pleaded with this woman to refuse Frodo's departure with them, to have him assist in the journey would put his life in more danger needlessly. Following that, the wound he already sustained the wizard knew caused great darkness over the young hobbit's heart, more so than any of them would have to bear. As Frodo looked up, the old man noted fear in the boy's in eyes once more, and a quiet conversation occurred, before Frodo looked away and hints of agony showed on his face. Though he had been rather resistant to the Ring already, it had still taken some influence upon him.

"It is not safe for you, Master Baggins…" A softer male voice caused everyone's head to turn towards the black haired man that had been eyeballing Desiree earlier. The Irish woman watched as he opened his mouth, "The journey will be hard for even those of us with experience in such matters. It will be dangerous for everyone, chances are people will be killed in the process and many will be seeking us out."

"But I traveled here with the Ring, it is too early to just turn out now!" Frodo protested. "I wish to see it until the end!" Elrond winced in the process, a frown taking his own face that was a little gentler than before.

"I'm afraid Aragorn is correct though Frodo, the journey would be too dangerous for a hobbit."

Frodo's look would have pulled at Des's heartstrings if she were a better, more caring person. However in the end, Desiree was just a bit odd, and had a taste for violence that accompanied a raging temper, a somewhat rather active libido, and a dash of charm with a bit of niceness that accompanied her nonprofessional life.

So she grabbed up Frodo's front, yanked him forward, and then made him stand beside her with a determined look on her face as the hobbit stood somewhat shocked and befuddled. Settled she set her elbows back on the table and put her lips to her fingers as she interlaced them for one last final time. Still determined not to speak, she said everything she meant to in that one moment.

_'He goes.'_

With a glower towards her, Elrond spoke with a grave voice, "However… it appears the ring bearer disagrees." As he glared at her once Frodo seemed relieved to hear this, she concluded easily enough that this 'hobbit,' pre addiction or not, might be her only friend amongst this lot.

"…As long as she bears the ring, and I will assist." Now the man with black hair, Aragorn, rose though his face was stern as he came in front of her. "She will have my blade. Mr. Baggins." He nodded towards Frodo and smirked a little with a knowing glint, "Will as well."

"HA!" Des looked over her shoulder, beyond the window that held no glass and she had shot out of, and watched as a little man with blonde hair and a chubby face shoved his face out, "Well! You're not goin' anywhere without me! Just you try and separate me and Mr. Frodo!"

_Gay couple? _The Irish woman questioned as the man launched forward, standing beside Frodo. Frodo grunted and looked over, surprise on his face before smiling lightly towards Samwise Gamgee. She concluded it was probably platonic based on how they weren't as close together as they _could_ be physically. She then heard matching cries of, "not without us either!" One of them laced almost with an Irish tilt that made her perk if only a little.

Two more hobbits came out and she found herself a little more disappointed in the process. One however bore a bit of a red in his hair, while the other was browner though they looked very alike in resemblance. Obviously they were related.

She then leaned forward in her chair, looking at them as they joined beside Frodo and Sam. Watching them out of the corner of her eye, she then turned her gaze towards Aragorn. _Is he __sure__ he wants ta do this? 'Cause ah'm nae even sure ah know what I be signin' up fer here... an' ah thought ah'd only have to babysit one o' e'm!_

Little did she know, much of those that would compose of the 'Fellowship of the Ring' as Elrond would call them, thought much the same about her at this moment, and in speculations of the journey to come.

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*Our gold is not ordinary gold


	3. 002

**A/N**: Thank you **Dodectron**, **Guest, **and **Herio9071** for reviewing, you guys made my day! I will make it a point to answer questions in a chapter through the authors note, but if there are no questions or anything deeming a reaction except gratitude, I will thank reviewers in this fashion. Also thank you to the people who followed and favorited! Keep on partying hard!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the creations of J.R.R Tolkien; I'm instead using the world he created for a story in my head that I've decided to tell. I am making no money out of this, and am here for only entertainment value. My ownership lies on the main protagonists.

"_Talk" _this signifies a different language. If the character is an elf, you'll know what they're speaking.

_'Talk' _this signifies nonverbal speech or writing, writing will be broken off from the main body of the story so it's easy to tell apart.

_Talk._ This means thoughts. Or me emphasizing words. You can usually tell the difference.

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**Submission to Logical Expected Oncoming Oblivion**

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The meeting as it adjourned left a heavy feeling in Desiree's mind, a low breath exiting her as Gandalf had gathered her by the wrist, her own hands gathering up her supplies and weaponry before allowing him to lead her out. The ring she had placed securely in the breast pocket of the tunic she wore. She didn't want anyone trying to swipe it from her. Clutching her Smith and Wesson's to her in particular protection, the throwing and butterfly knives hung in the scabbards they belonged to, she let out a low breath.

"You seem unsettled." Gandalf's voice drifted to her ears and she looked up with a frown. Of course she seemed unsettled, she was placed into a venture she wasn't sure she even knew the course of, much less the why. This One Ring business was a bit more than she was accustomed to… as well as having a traveling party. There was never a party to a destination when she was working. There was only a meet up point.

When working though she had found that solitude was most preferred as opposed to company. Company allowed for distractions and for a killer, which she had long accepted that she was. Distractions particularly for assassin who on many points could be hired to take out important figures could be fatal. The utmost professionalism was part of Desiree's quota of 'traits to have.' Always punctual, always on time, and she worked her butt off to make sure the ending was always the same. 'Mission Accomplished.' That wasn't to say though she hadn't used people in the past as covers. Nor that she hadn't had her fair share of absolute close calls.

Though… There was nothing quite like a pair of red stilettos in a red sequin cocktail dress with golden bangles dangling from her ears and her hair all dolled up, standing in front of a political figure pointing a .45 with a silencer on it to make the picture of 'professional and undercover' as an assassin. Usually she used her normal appearance, as it attracted men and in turn male targets. Sweet and darling were always easy to pull off, and a wink after a well placed glance to the corner of her eyes, followed by a tilt upward with her lips yanked that sweet and darling directly into deadly and seductive.

Be it far from Desiree after all to not use her god given assets for her sin laden occupation.

But back to the focus of her thoughts, the fact that rarely there was a group to travel with. On occasion, another assassin, women her own age would accompany her and they would split the reward. There were a few older men that she associated with it, but there was never more than one other of that category to accompany her. Sometimes they were burning out and needed assistance, and other times they were coming to kill her.

Her handler M. K. insisted her to help the burnouts because then whoever they were killing had a higher chance of being their boss. This meant far less competition for hits in the long run and that provided more money.

Men her own age, such as Alec and Miles, they were company she enjoyed on and off employment. Unfortunately though, she had found that to be a fatal mistake. Alec was on the hit too, which unnerved her. Now she was to travel with not just two men, but also _nine_ of varying ages, preferences, and maturity instead. If she had a heart it would have pounded at the thought, as wariness and distrust reared its ugly head. She had no reason to trust them either, though the black haired one had sworn to defend her and the hobbit named Frodo. Many of them also did _not_ trust her either.

She would have to sleep with one eye open, a gun under the pillow in her palm, and a knife ready to be stabbed into a belly of an oncoming opponent with the other hand. It was not a favorable situation. She searched Gandalf's face and then looked away with a frown.

Des would not tolerate being killed by another man who betrayed her again. She would not accept it as 'just business.' Particularly in this case where she was greatly outnumbered. Her finger gently rubbed against the S & W in her hand, the one that didn't have a clip, but a cylinder barrel instead out of the two. She would need to reload the bullet she shot earlier and clean the guns doubly so. She had spotted her whetstone she used for her knives amongst her belongings. She'd have to sharpen the blades as well, prepare for all possible attacks, both from local and foreign company.

"…You do not trust us." Noted the wizard finally pulling her from her thoughts. He had watched as a caution laced in her eyes, the way quiet held in her personality and around her. It was loud, despite her muteness, her thinking. Gandalf was old hand at reading what was not said, and in this case, there was much that their new friend was not saying. Ring bearer or none something weighed heavily on the woman. Her eyes were darting around, searching, and landing on his face. Her finger petting her strange, yet loud objects she carried with her. When she finally stared at him though she was searching, critically as though trying to find something.

He had seen the suspicion in the way her eyes winced lightly, her red brows moved down, and her lips pulled into a very slight downward tilt. Yes, there was no trust there, not in him despite his lack of doing anything to warrant it, nor was there a willingness to hand it over.

At least, not yet. He had taken notice as he had led her as well her feet had quieted despite the heavy items she bore. Her eyes had glazed in thought, yet when another passed by her shoulders were rise in their tensing just lightly, and that glaze would sharpen to acute focus. Trained senses, he imagined he was not dealing with a normal human being. Though he still questioned if she was mortal or not. A creature that moved and breathed, warm, but with no heart… he had checked in her sleep for it, her pulses, she breathed strong, but even when he laid his hand over her chest…

There was nothing. An animated body with fully working senses, and no necromancy or evil hovering about it… yet there was darkness.

It was darkness though that did not deter the wizard, or give way to evil. It was just a darkness that hovered over the woman, not good, or bad… it was just there. Somewhat like death, a natural feeling that was earthy and welcoming to some degree. As her eyes turned to him again though and narrowed into a focus, he cleared his throat looking down at her, "I will assist you back to your room." A nod in acceptance, "After that, I will perhaps look for something to assist with your…" He had to be choosey with words here. While usually he did not mind, there was no reason to offend her so soon, "communication obstacle." That seemed suiting enough.

Des perked up and gave a nod towards what he said, though at the same time feeling mildly relieved in the process. Each time they found her something to 'aid' her 'disability,' though she liked his polite way of putting it, she didn't have to talk to them. If she didn't have to talk to them… perhaps she wouldn't have to come to know them mentally, thus assisting with an absence of emotional attachment…

So if one pulled a knife on her she wouldn't think twice or feel regret on blowing their brains across the road, mountain, or what ever they were traveling on. She didn't trust them, regardless of them not doing anything not to earn her trust. They were odd, and she would know having been odd herself. They just allowed her to her knives and her guns; they didn't even blink twice when she collected them. Perhaps they did not know what she carried?

She would gladly not allow them to know anymore than the fact that the Smith and Wesson with the cylinder was loud, and so was it's brother with the clip. She also wouldn't give the satisfaction of letting them know the brother to the colt style was a quicker in fire than having to pull the hammer back of the one she fired earlier again and again.

These were things she would keep to herself and they would either find out while she defended herself, or when danger that warranted occurred. She felt her finger linger over the barrel of the colt style one more time and then looked back up as she let out a breath following Gandalf still, his hand having relinquished hers. She wouldn't wander, to do so would mean she'd get lost and this was not a place that Des wanted to attempt finding her way through.

To be honest, with this many people and as she noted, elves that glanced at her; she would much rather just venture out of this place called Rivendell.

Little did she know that in the future, Desiree would come to acknowledge it as one of the few sanctuaries she would find in the place known as Middle Earth…

... Later Desiree was left alone in the place that had been 'her room.' The room itself was huge, the pristine white ceiling coming down into beautiful white walls and columns that lead to a balcony she hadn't noticed outside. Wandering out in bare feet, as she had been this entire time, she found the balcony led a view down to a beautiful river valley below. Below her other balconies laid, and even a garden was a bit in her sights, the lush greenness of it all being something she hadn't seen in a very long time.

Corporate gigs sent her mostly to the city, though she enjoyed when there were the few moments private get-a-ways that her targets had, deep in the mountains where there wasn't a soul around… yet always a convenient cabin close by, sometimes just across the lake. Her pink lips tipped downward in a frown.

She never questioned it, but while those hits had been her favorite, as during observation periods she could curl up on a swinging bench in a blanket, a fluffy robe, and a cup of hot chocolate or coffee in between the actual observing, they did leave much to wonder about.

Sort of like her traveling party. With a forlorn sigh Desiree glowered at the sky as it was starting a deep blue and only a few clouds in the sky. So far she had noted there was a dwarf, as he called himself, an elf, two humans from her guess by the man named Aragorn and the blonde whose name she had yet to collect, an old man named Gandalf who despite his age, she had no doubt he was travel ready, and four hobbits…

Which by the time she had watched them leave before Gandalf had led her out, giving the aforementioned old man giving a nod of confidence of Elrond in the process, she had discovered their names to be Sam, Merry, and Pippin. Who were apparently Frodo's traveling companions. She did not know these were merely nicknames, but as they all still had no way to address her, except for 'ma'am or mu'm' as Merry and Pippin did while explaining to her why they needed people like hobbits on their journey, she would find it didn't matter either way.

Needless to say, she did not like ma'am or m'um. As both made her feel old, and at the age of 35, Desiree did not like the feeling. Little did she know that she was by far the youngest in the entire group, as Frodo himself was 50 and Pippin was actually the youngest of the hobbit party altogether.

Though given the cheerful demeanor of Pippin and the sureness of Merry, she doubted they'd ever taken a life, or for that matter, ever experienced the trials of fighting for one's own survival, in their lives. _She_ would have to keep a smart eye out for _them_. As if there was to be a slowing of travel, or for that matter an issue of protection, it'd be on them. Reaching up and rubbing her eyes she glowered ahead. Perhaps they would surprise her and were merely hiding their combat ability?

Something told her that would almost make her a tomfool if she were not careful and in turn could get them killed. It would be for the best for her to just assume the young lads hadn't fought whatsoever and this would be a brand new experience for them. That said, she would not recognize on the road that they were actually attempting to protect _her_ and in turn, the Ring. She reached into her pocket and stood back from the balcony, it would be bad if it went tumbling from her and she lost it.

_Oh the faces when ah'd have to say tha' ah lost it._ Scowls came to her mind, many disapproving, and angry scowls. Violence following of course, as that was only natural in her line of duty... She glowered at the little gold piece of jewelry in her hands, and then looked about as to assure the door was closed and no one was visible to her eyes.

"They're in such a flutter all abou' ye…" She finally muttered to it under her breath, "Yet te me ye seem like a normal lil' ring… 'd be a wee bit easier if ah had a chain… cannae trus' me pockets now can I?" She tilted her head silently and then moved to shove it back in. Now she did feel something though from it, as it rested against her breast.

A light drumming that filled her mind, filling her head and making her hands rest against the railing for a few moments as she shut her eyes, and then listened. The drumming was a sound though, it was not from her, she could not feel it in her heart, or her ears. There was not a tightening in her throat; just a drumming that mimicked what was once a heartbeat. Nothing more. Looking down at her chest, she managed a smirk.

_Ah. So ye do have some effect on meh._ She looked up back towards the sky. The Ring stopped its attempt for now with the drumming that it had begun, settling again. Des let out a soft breath as the weight that accompanied the drumming just as soon disappeared, as unnoticeable as it had been to begin with. She wondered why it did not affect her earlier, and decided it didn't matter one way or another. Apparently this was her burden to bear, because the world had placed her at the right place, during right decision, at the crucially right time.

_Ye lead a life tha's damned, maybe if ye are dyin', this is just your mind attemptin' te escape… _ She began to think to herself, _maybe te die in peace me mind is attemptin' one last chance at redemption._ She smiled lightly, as bleak as that was; it was a nice thought to keep in mind. Though she found herself a little grateful for this journey that was just thrust into her. Finding she tugged it close with open arms, metaphorically of course. This journey sounded long, and Desiree rarely had time to think. Thus she would have plenty of time to think, particularly if she was making a conscious effort to not open verbal communication with her traveling companions.

One could be driven insane by the thought of being surrounded yet alone in a group of people. Desiree found comfort in it thought. If she was alone in the group, if she was unknown as they were to her… and remained that way.

Betrayal would not be possible, because no trust or loyalty would be placed within them to begin with. One could not continue their life in such a way, but the assassin already considered the fact that her life may very well have already ended.

Thus there was nothing to lose. Looking up with a blaze in her eyes and her brows tilted downward to match her face, determination began to set in and Des let out a sigh. She'd be damned if she didn't try and make this one last mission successful. The only logical explanation she could come to put this was that this was her final moment. The journey ahead was her mind's final attempt to redeem itself in her actions and coalesce peacefully with her conscious for the crimes of the past. Apparently throwing the Ring into this volcano was the last attempt at peace her mind could sum up, and in turn of the Ring's destruction, she would save the world. That would make her a hero.

Des almost smirked bitterly at the ground below, and her shoulders shook with a silent chuckle at the thought.

The assassin was anything but a hero. Yet here was a group of nine people that were going to be depending on her to be just that. Running her fingers through her hair, she gave another low top of it all, apparently the fate of this world dubbed 'Middle-Earth' was resting on her shoulders. Though her companions later on would not be familiar with the saying, Desiree felt it at its' epitome.

_No Pressure Des…_

… Gandalf returned some time later, after it was twilight and some elves had brought her something to eat. She didn't question why they didn't try and take her elsewhere, but as she chewed lightly on a piece of fruit quietly, she eyed the old man as he entered carrying a packaged underneath his arm and something else she couldn't quite make out. She had cleaned her guns and sharpened her blades after her pensive thoughts on the balcony, having found everything to be in at least working order.

The spring in her 9 mm. S & W with the clip needed to be changed out sometime in the future. However by her estimation it still had at least a good four or five months left on it. Chewing on what she guessed to be something like a kiwi, she had reclined back on the floor to lean against the bed. The coolness of the floor kept her hot blood from letting her go stir crazy. She had found the doors unlocked, so they weren't attempting to keep her in, but a lack of layout and an untrustworthiness of the surrounding areas and how her senses and reflexes would react to them kept her from walking out. The last thing Des needed was them thinking she was just going to off someone for the hell of it. She felt like a dangerous animal that was conscious that it was dangerous.

The difference was instead of hunting though she didn't want the possible prey finding out until later. Though the knives had not gone unnoticed by the old man as he glanced at them lying out on the bed she had awaken in. Looking at her he then looked up, and then back. "Is there a particular reason you're on the floor?"

Desiree's response was nothing but a quirked brow, before in a single, lunging movement she had propelled herself upward to her feet. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet as she lowered and then relaxed watching Gandalf in the silence. Reaching underneath his arm, he pulled a thick, but small leather bound journal from it. A strap holding it closed before he placed it in front of him, gesturing for her to take it.

Des eyed it for a few moments, looking at the journal then up at him. It was new by the looks of it. She took it gingerly from his hands and then moved towards the bed, crawling on top of it as she sat with her legs cross and opened it up, penning through it. A quill fell out, a golden eagle feather, when she got a few pages in, making her grunt. Gandalf watched the woman eye it and then take a note at the edge that was slanted. She then looked up expectantly. Good.

He could see she already knew the art of writing. A relief came over him. She was intelligent then…

Gandalf almost winced; he knew she was not young in the way of humans. At least he supposed as much, given her human resemblance. Reaching into his robes he handed her an inkbottle as she opened the book to the first page and popped it open. Carefully balancing it on her leg, she dipped the quill and began to write something immediately. Clearing his throat, he watched as her eyes turned up, though her face did not and a look of stern rebuke at being interrupted displayed. He quirked a brow and chuckle half heartedly before she leaned up from her slouch over the book, and then down, before slowly giving him a nod.

Now he was receiving gratitude. Curt, but nonetheless it was gratitude. He then cleared his throat again before she could start, watching as exasperation came up, her green eyes rolling and her turning lightly in the motion as a loud exhale of agitation moved from her nose. It appeared their ring bearer did not enjoy disruptions… her interaction with the others that were to make up her companions, including him would thus be interesting.

"When none receives a journal, I believe it is customary to sign their name on it." He watched her look up at him now with a not amused face Her eyes were lidded, her lips tilted down, and her hand holding the quill poised, and her eyebrows just slightly tilted forward. One of her strands of curly red hair seemed to fall in front of her face too, just to add to the look of her agitation. Slowly inhaling and losing the tension in her jaw that told him there was a loss of patience occurring, she scratched out the beginnings of something making him grunt and shift, looking over her shoulder.

Once he couldn't see her face, as she wrote, Desiree gave a wince. She didn't want to give him her current name, though it too was not her real name. Then again though, she had assumed many a fake name… perhaps to not give her name would also assist this time. She let out a breath and allowed her fingers to finish their work as she soon looked down, seeing her fake name upon the paper. It maintained it's Irish origin, and it settled her a little more. Before they ventured out she would commit it to memory. Assuming different names was as easy as changing clothes for her these days. This time she wouldn't need a wig though.

* * *

'_Aileen Wuornos Ó Roghan.'_

* * *

For a moment, she sat back and found herself a bit bemused. Aileen Wuornos was a serial killer that was a former prostitute in America. By lethal injection she had been executed in 2002. While Desiree had killed more people than Aileen had ever hoped to, Des herself was more amused on instinct that she had chosen a name from the multiple she had in her mind as possible aliases of a woman that was…. Well…

She wrote down a woman that was equally as damned as she found herself to be. Looking up, she then tilted her head in thought, tapping the feather of the quill against her lip. How suiting. Looking towards Gandalf as he read over the name aloud, she then grinned. As he glanced up at her, eyebrows rose, she wrote down one last thing. As constantly calling her Aileen would drive her up the wall.

* * *

_'Call me Ro...'_

* * *

….Gandalf remained with her pensively smoking for a while after their small interaction, he had of course asked her more questions now that he knew she could write. One of them had been her age, in which she informed him it was impolite to ask, thus bringing a chuckle to the old man. Another had been about the items she carried and other than the knives, he inquired as to what were her 'loud noisemakers.'

She avoided writing weapons altogether, and informed him they were simply 'protection.' That had left him to his thoughts, and as the day grew late and the sun was setting, alighting the sky with pinks, purples, and reds, he bid her a good night saying he had other matters to take care of. Des felt a bit of relief exit her when he finally left, having finished being mentally tensed for him to ask any more questions. Flipping to the last fifty or so pages of the leather bound journal, she dipped the quill and began to write immediately.

She wrote her usual name, Desiree Jessie Kane, and followed it with her death date, labeling it as 'DD.' October 24th, 2012. That was the day she knew for a fact she died. Gandalf had said she had slept for three days, yet she awakened on the 25th. Thus a day She let out a breath and rubbed her face as she continued to write. She wrote down the names of Alec and Miles. An asterisk placed by Miles's name and an underline. She wrote down her last mission, Edinburgh, and then tally marks on the side as she rung off in her mind each little kill she had, making them at the bottom of the pages.

When the sun had finally sunk, an elf came by after knocking on the door and entering holding a candle. Des waited from them to leave, conveniently closing the book on her arm by accident as she had moved to take the candle from them with a nod of thanks, which was returned with a smile. She didn't start back up until the door shut again and she heard their footsteps fade away.

Desiree wrote down her safe house locations, she wrote down the ages important thing happened. When she married, when she was recruited, when she graduated college, when she graduated high school. Then when she was born. As the ink for that began to dry, she tapped it silently in thought. She could never forget when she was born. Dead already or not, the woman would not let herself forget the past or what she was. If she was going to take this shot at redemption, well she needed to remember it all. Memories flowed from her, as she would write brief descriptions on certain items. Mostly locations, a few describing what happened.

For each little tally at the bottom of the page, she wrote a death date that was miniscule, and a location. Not a country, just a city.

The last thing she wrote down was the name of her handler, and fellow associates. She placed stars next to their names based on the amount of people she knew they wacked, rating them like a restaurant. Five stars for many, one star for rookie. As fatigue began to wear on her and she looked up at the night, she knew it was getting too late for her to keep going.

She noticed the candle was also halfway melted and almost groaned with annoyance but refrained. Flipping back to where Gandalf's questions held their answers, she began to write silently again. Just a little thing before she would go to bed.

* * *

_'My name is Aileen Wuornos Ó Roghan, I am called by Ro. I have been charged with the bearing of The One Ring which I am to take to cast into the volcano that lays within Mordor, destroying great evil. My traveling companions on this journey are an elf, a dwarf, two men, an old man by the name of Gandalf the Grey, and four Hobbits, by the names of Frodo Baggins, Merry, Pippin, and Sam. I do not know the other four, with the exception of Aragorn, who is the human man with black hair and black stubble. Though perhaps it is a dark brown, I cannot be certain.'_

* * *

Looking up, Desiree considered if she really wanted to either. With a breath, eyes widening as she puffed out her cheeks and looked back down, she exhaled forcing her shoulders to relax. The calligraphy took more concentration than her normal scribbling. M. K. always complained to her for having doctor's writing.

* * *

_'The date is October 28__th__, and the Council of Elrond, Elrond being the Lord of Rivendell, have decided that due to my appearance on the 25__th__, my perfect arrival setting, and the question at hand during my arrival, that I am to bear this task.'_

* * *

Shutting her eyes she let out a breath. Rubbing them after setting the quill down she considered what to put next? The information in the back would retain who she was, it would allow her to remember all she needed to in the event that she had to return to being Des at any moment. In fact she would still consider herself as Desiree, as that was what other assassins knew her by. She would never mentally acknowledge herself as this 'Ro' character she was to assume, she would only see herself as Desiree 'pretending' to be 'Ro.'

This honestly wasn't a problem for her, as that is how all of her covers worked before, in this case however, there was an issue of what she would place in the book and if unexpected readers would be able to sense her confusion in the entire matter at hand. While yes, she agreed to this journey with no knowledge of to what it implies other than the absolute goals, she had the assurance of nine people who knew exactly what was going on.

Whether she knew them or not, for information's sake, was completely independent of gaining that information. Thus would they still see her as this ring bearer figure if they knew she had no idea as to the evil it held, or much less what half them were or what they were from? Perhaps.

But was she willing to risk that? Desiree eyed the candle before letting out a grunt and finally picking up the quill, she would have to, at least to some degree.

* * *

_'I am not sure as to what it entails other than the absolute. Though with the assurance that my companions do, I am not too weary of the matter at hand.'_

* * *

She was lying; she was very weary, yet it was not because of the matter at hand. It was of those whom she was going to have to be dependent on for this information.

* * *

_'I am mute.'_

* * *

Another lie of course, but then again, Des had long since come to the terms of lying, and that she would endure and also be the culprit responsible for it. Bitterly, she glowered at the pages; the assassin occupation ran on lies after all and just because she was attempting redemption, it did not mean there was not a case for it. For her protection and untrusting of those against her, such as she was about to mention, she would allow herself to utilize that lie.

* * *

_'Gandalf has bestowed this journal upon me to better the communication between myself and the others of this 'Fellowship of the Ring.' I suspect that there will be much said, as the elf, and the blonde man who spoke out, were both against my 'ring bearer ship.' The dwarf as well. Though Aragorn did not say anything against my bearer-ship and pledged his blade to protect myself and Frodo.'_

* * *

Desiree couldn't help a soft chuckle under her breath shaking her head. She wondered if that was the Middle Earth way of a pick-up line. Probably not given the situation. Tapping her lip with a smile on her face though, she looked at the ceiling as the flame danced following shadows here and there.

* * *

_'I said earlier the date is October 28__th__, though I would say now as it is past midnight, it is thus October 29__th__. I do not know the year.'_

* * *

Finally corking the ink Gandalf lent her, and setting the quill to the side she left the book to dry. As she had to do so before with her past she wrote down in the back. Everything in the back would be mindless drabble though to those that did not experience it, or did not have explicit information from her. Thus why she did it. The graduated college, and graduated high school was obvious, but in many ways, she supposed it could confuse those here. What if they didn't have that at all?

_Not my problem_.

As she shifted on the bed to actually go to sleep, there was a crinkle of paper and she grunted taking note of the package that had been laying on it the entire time she had been writing. How had she not noticed it? Leaning forward and grasping it, she looked around. She doubted Gandalf just left it here on purpose though… opening it, she found a leaf that was forged, the gold and green of it shining in the candlelight making her fingers slowly go over it. The smoothness brought a chill to her spine as it reminded her of the guns she carried and the blades she had. She then looked underneath it, to find a green cloak that had a hood, the leaf placed over the connection to assure it stayed.

Getting up Desiree found that the girl in her just couldn't resist trying it on. Smiling lightly she undid the clasp and pulled it over her tunic and trousers, finding it matched her height and only hovered a few inches off the ground. Because of that alone, she doubted it was for Gandalf. The old man towered over her… Grunting as she let the leaf rest over her she and let the feel come over her. She moved towards a body length mirror that resided in the corner of the room and eyed it quietly, finding that the look was new, but red always did go well with green.

Smirking, she nodded, took it off and folded it, setting it with the chair on the desk. She would be careful not to catch anything on fire… moving quietly she dipped into the bed after kicking off her trousers and shirt. She preferred to sleep this way, and as long as there was a bed, would enjoy that luxury until they were moving. Regardless of modesty for the time being… The cool sheets combined with exhaustion hit her full tilt though, and the woman fell asleep quickly. Though one gun did remain underneath her pillow and her hand out of habit had fallen onto it.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn II and the heir to Isildur, the ancestor responsible for obtaining The One Ring from the treacherous Sauron, the Ring's one true wielder, stepped from the shadows he had been observing from while the woman slept. It was at Gandalf's request that he slipped into the room after the wizard had left, passing him on the way in the hall when he had been heading to enter it. His hand rested on an apple for the moment he had been waiting to eat as he watched the woman roll onto her back, hand remaining underneath her pillow and her chest rise and fall as her breathing remained deep with slumber. Eyes having adjusted to the dark and with the aid of moonlight he saw one of her strange items was missing. The one that was similar yet did not have a cylinder like object within the center of it. He no longer doubted where it was, confirming his suspicion after her display with the item's similar brother, that it was indeed a weapon.

He had observed the way she had waited for the wizard to leave, listening until the footsteps drifted away, before beginning to write again. This time though, in the back as opposed to when she answered questions Gandalf explained on his way in, in the front. He wondered what there was back there, and how the wizard would know that the woman was going to switch. Perhaps it was the personality or how she reacted with Gandalf. He would have many moments though when traveling to see what this stranger carried within her book. She had spent much time on it though, in the back, far more than the front. Tallying the bottom of the pages, then after he had timed a half of an hour later, returning to those tallies and being to scratch out something with the quill. She had not finished until it was past midnight with it and then set it to dry for a few moments, doing nothing but staring off before then flipping to the front.

It was then she began to write, though he watched as she would pause and think pensively, as though an author at work. He would have to hold skepticism when he finally would read what was at the front. Perhaps the back would hold answers. Or perhaps not, the woman's eyes held intelligence and quick thinking. He had noted it while watching her reactions towards the obvious refusal he knew would come once the ring bearer had been proclaimed. He also had taken note of the confusion on her face through much of it, covered with a cool demeanor that was practiced to hide it.

Though he knew Gandalf would try to think better of it, Aragorn, also know as "Strider," and a Ranger to the North, could see they were to be traveling with a dangerous individual. He could _suspect_ why she was already hiding it as well… though to know why he supposed would be a much greater help. Gandalf had already noted that in the quick reactions that occurred, the tensing, and flinching that would happen when the wizard would lead her. The first he led her by the back of her neck, the second and third time similar to that of a child. Her reactions each time differed, but the attempts to pantomime stayed the same.

Her writing with a quill though was slow, concentrated to be clean, she did not write like someone practiced in it. With a stern stare he looked at the sleeping form that was breathing deeply, unaware and then the clothing that had been stripped. A quirked brow going towards it before he almost bit back a chuckle. Perhaps like a child, she could not bear to remain in clothing either. Silently he crept towards the book though, flipping it to the first page.

He read the first passages of this entry and paused as he reached the end. She did not know the year? Turning his gaze towards her quietly, the moonlight giving him some light he pulled his own quill from his tunic, dipping it after gently uncorking the ink. He had all he needed to know for the moment, and until a moment that didn't grant him the risk of the shuffling of papers being heard, he would refrain from turning to the back. Silently he wrote down the year, keeping the wary eye on her as the quill scratched, seeing her stir lightly just as he finished and corked it remaining ever silent.

* * *

'_3018.'_

* * *

Setting the ink down making sure to remain unnoticed and pocketing his quill, he turned and left swiftly, taking extra care to make no sound as he exited and quieting his footsteps until he was far away from her ears. He would have much to discuss with Gandalf before they would leave with their new ring bearer and the hobbits at the beginning of the year.


End file.
